


Our Chance For A New Life

by KekoOTD



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe: Titanic, Angst, Artist Jean Kirstein, F/F, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Period-Typical Homophobia, Rich Marco Bott, i mean its the 1910s, i swear i changed the tags 20 times now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-15 19:26:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1316506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KekoOTD/pseuds/KekoOTD
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein finally finds the money to buy tickets for himself and his friends to board a ship sailing to America. The land of new beginnings, a chance to start over. But it's not just any ticket, and it's not just any ship. The day Jean steps onto the RMS Titanic on April 10th, 1912, his life takes a turn for the, well, we'll see where it'll take him.<br/>I do not own the characters from SNK, Titanic or any references from the 1997 movie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Glove

Jean sprints through the crowd, bag slung over his right shoulder and pushing past people with his left. "Jean, slow down! It's not like we're going to miss the launch!" Armin calls after him, struggling to keep up. 

"I know, I'm just really excited! The R.M.S. Titanic and we're gonna be on it- and we've got Second Class tickets!" Jean shouts back at him. 

"Oh, relax, will you?" Jaeger chided, shoving Jean to the side. "It's not that big of a deal," he continues. 

But Jean sees that look of excitement in Eren's eyes. He finally slows down enough so that both Armin and Connie could catch up.

They can't believe it; they were going on the Titanic, going to America. This is their chance to start their lives over; to actually get somewhere in life. Jean's already 22 years old, hardly able to take care of himself. He barely make a few cents on his drawings. He assumes one could say that he's an artist of sorts. He do different things; sometimes he does scenery, sometimes he does people. He rarely draws people but when he does, he focuses mostly on their hands. How they curve, bend, wrinkle, grasp, all of it. It keeps him calm, as if he's in a meadow and there's no one else there but Jean and the sounds of the wind.

Titanic isn't going to start it's journey just yet, but the four of them want to get their luggage into their rooms fast so they could stand on deck and wave off the people on the dock. Connie finally finds where he and Jean will be staying. A simple Two-Berth Stateroom for the Second Class passengers. Jean claimed top bunk right away, throwing his bag on the mattress, and checking next door to see if Armin and Eren are ready to go back up. He snaps my vest closed over his button up shirt and runs back down the hall.

The amount of stairs he's climbing up and descending from would kill him on a normal day. But he is pumped up on adrenaline and doesn't want to miss any of the excitement happening on deck. The breeze blows the longer part of his hair over his eyes when he pops out of the corridor. The tugboat had already started pulling the ship away from the dock. Jean makes it to the railing and starts to wave at the crowds. He's happy. He's overwhelmed.

He's free.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jean sees a flash of white. He turns to see one man stick out from the other passengers around him. The man is definitely First Class, dressed in a full tuxedo. His smile is almost brighter than Jeans. His eyes shines happier than Jean's. His hand curve in a beautiful way in his white glove as he waves to the people below. Jean turned back to the crowd for a second before going back to the man, seeing him turning around and head back below deck. All Jean can catch of him... is his freckles.

Connie startles Jean as he is pulled out of his trance. "Do you want to come back in or are y'gonna stay out here a bit longer?" he asks. Jean looked back to where the white-gloved man was standing before turning back to Con. 

"I'll come down for a bit," Jean replies. Connie turns on his heel and Jean followed him below deck. All he is thinking of is the freckled man's hands. He hops on his bed, digs through his bag for his sketchbook and a pencil and heads back outside again.

He pulls up a chair next to the railing of the stern and starts to draw. Simple lines, turning into curves, finally turning into fingers. Before long, Jean has a hand clothed in a white glove waving at a crowd far beyond the paper. He tips his head back and inhales deeply, taking in the smell of new wood, fresh paint, and the salty ocean air. 

"White gloves," he murmurs to himself.


	2. Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean draws hands, faces, and oceans. A little more Armin in this chapter because he's important. Dinner with the weirdos, another encounter with that mysterious man with the freckles, and a dream of hope. (I can't summarize don't look at me)

Jean spends about four hours filling up several pages with different poses of the white-gloved hand. If he flips through it, it looked like it's moving in a wave. Before he knows it, he's drawing a face. He's not sure why, it just happens

"I'm not weird. This isn't weird" he whispers to himself. It is weird, however, because faces aren’t really his forte. He usually hates drawing them. He always thinks he makes them look off-model.

But here he is, forming a neck with a few freckles. Where he assumes the freckles would be if the man had only been closer so Jean could get a better look. He only got a quick glance at him, after all. He remembers his nose, it was round; very soft. So was his chin. His teeth were white and straight, likely done by the best dentists in England. Jean remembers his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, sprinkled with more freckles.

And his eyes. So happy, the smile much like Jean's; excited to get the hell out of England, good Lord. Jean wonders why, though. Assuming he’s filthy rich and has everything he wants, why would he leave? To each their own, Jean muses.

He hears the engines slow and looks across the sunset-lit water to see Cherbourg coming into view. He closes his sketchbook and strides across the deck. Just about to go inside, he spotts Armin leaning against the rail. Jean hesitates for just a moment before going to stand by him. The front of his hair is pulled back and tied behind his ears, and it rustles in the breeze. “Have you made up your mind yet?” Jean asks finally. Armin lets out a sigh and keeps his eyes trained on the docks getting closer.

“I’m not sure yet. My grandfather’s in Ireland and I don’t know if he wants to see me or not but… I want to keep going with you guys. With Eren and…” his voice trails off.

The two sit in silence for another minute before Jean speaks up again. “Do _you_ want to see your grandfather?”

“Yes. But I want to go to America, get a good job, live in a good home, and have a good family… I guess there’s still time left to decide,” Armin explains. He turns to face Jean full on.

“What about you? France is just there, are you thinking about-“

“No” Jean cuts him off there.

Armin blinks at him before nodding. “Sorry, it’s just… you already know. About my family and…” Jean apologizes. Armin nods again and turned to face the sea with his friend.

“I’ll see you for dinner, I guess,” Jean says weakly, going inside. He wants to keep drawing in the room so he won't have to mess with all of the oncoming people from Cherbourg.

Connie isn’t in the room; Jean expected as much. He climbs onto his bed, tucking the pillow into the corner and nuzzling in, getting comfortable. The freckle-face in his sketchbook is almost done, he just needs to do the hair and- what was his hairstyle…? Jean saw it when it was all blown from the wind… he thinks it may have been an undercut? A little like his own but at the same time... not.

It was an undercut, yes, but not the kind of undercut Jean's hair is in. Jean's is shaved rather close on his neck and the back of his head, and the top is a mess of a lighter brown mop of longer hair. Almost like a dirty hay color. Jean thinks he remembers the man's hair was also shaved in the back, but not as close as his own. The rest is fuzzy, so Jean just draws it wind-blown. He draws little patches of hair sticking up and blown around. He finishes shading and holds it back to analyze the piece. “Who’s that?”

Jean jumps as Connie appears, peeking up over his bed. “N-no one,” Jean stammers. “Just someone I saw this afternoon,” he explains.

“Really? B’cause it looks like you studied him for a long time to get this detailed,” Connie observes, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Go away; go eat or something,” Jean growls, pushing him off the bed's rail. He really feels like he's talking to himself; as if on cue, his stomach lets out an obnoxious growl.

The two of them meet up with Eren and Armin in the Second Class Dining Hall. The food is actually they best they’d ever had before. Jean's actually never had roast turkey, and it’s damn good. He thinks how it's some sort of dark humor; how they’ve all made it here- the four of them spent most of their money on Second Class Tickets, so now they’re almost as broke as the people in Third Class.

After dinner, Jean goes back out on deck again to draw the way the star-filled sky reflects on the water. Even though the lights on the ship are so bright, he can see most of the stars. Some bigger than others, some brighter than most. Ripples in the water here and there, but very few. A calm night. Jean finishes his rough sketch and turns to go back inside. But across the deck, he spots a familiar figure. 

It's the freckled guy again. This time, his jacket is open, his vest and tie gone, and his top three buttons on his shirt are popped open.

Sweet Jesus.

He catches Jean looking at him, face red as the pits of hell almost, and Jean turns and runs back into the ship. He laughs to himself a little, though. He gets back to his room, kicks off his shoes, flings off his vest and rips his shirt off before hopping in bed. Connie isn’t there, which Jean finds strange. He thought his friend would be back and sleeping by now.

That night, Jean dreams of the house he hopes to have in America. A small one near the lake with the water reflecting the moon and stars. But so much more than what he had seen earlier on deck, going on forever into the depths of space. This is the right choice, going there instead of home. They don’t want me there anyway, why else would they ship me off to England he thinks. He knows this is the right choice, but why can he feel something bothering him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aiming to make this a Friday thing, and have at least 1,000 words maybe more please more per chapter??//???  
> uhhhhhh I DIDNT write this one at 2am ehehehhe and now I'm having my friend proofread it because she's pretty amazing and yeah.  
> Don't worry, the plot will develop soon like real soon like maybe next chapter idk man. Sasha will come next chapter because reasons and Jean and Marco will actually meet next chapter (hopefully)  
> So yeh I hope you liked this one ;~;


	3. Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More characters are introduced, and Jean is discovered.

Jean wakes up to Connie beating his head with a pillow. “What the f- stop it! Damn it Connie! Give me the fucking-,” Jean curses at him, grabbing for the damned thing. He's what most would call ‘not a morning person’.

“Do you want to eat or not?” Connie asks defensively. Jean just smacks him in the face with his own pillow before finally rolling out of bed.

“Eren and Armin are waiting for us already, so hurry up,” Connie tells him, standing ready by the door. Jean waves him off, shoving his feet into his shoes, his shirt hanging loose over his back, and he heads out the door with Connie. They meet up with the other two and head over to the dining hall. For the millionth time, Jean feels blessed for being second class. It’s close too unfair how good the food is and they only get a few days of it. Then he's sure to be a beggar again.

As they eat, Jean cautiously glances over at Armin. He looks as if he got little to no sleep last night; he has dark circles under his eyes and his face is ghostly white. “Armin…” Jean tries.

“I’m gonna stay,” he says, looking up with a determined face. “I’m going to America with you guys. My grandfather… he can wait just a bit longer to see me. Just until I get settled there,” he continues.

“Are you sure?” Connie asks. Armin starts to nod then ends up shaking his head ‘no’

“No. Yes? Don’t make me start second guessing again- my head already hurts,” Armin moans, resting his forehead in his palm. Eren reaches over and takes Armin’s other hand in his own and squeezes.

“Just do what you really want to do. It’s not like we’ll be mad if you leave,” Eren tells him. Armin looks up to meet his eyes and nods.

Breakfast goes on again and no one mentions Armin’s fingers still laced together with Eren’s.

After they leave the dining hall, Jean goes back to the room to change into his cleaner dark grey button up. He throws on his trademark vest over the shirt and goes back up to watch Queenstown come into view. Some people board and others leave. One girl with a bag over her shoulder and one in each hand struggles near the boys.

"Here, do you need some help?” Connie asks, going over to help her. Her brown hair is starting to fall out of her messy ponytail as she looks up at Connie with thankful eyes.

“Yes, please!” she sighs, handing over the bag in her left hand. He insists on taking the one in her other hand as well and the two disappear down the corridor together. The three remaining watch them walk together all the way until they were out of sight, open-mouthed.

“Damn. Why aren’t you like that, Jean?” Eren asks.

"What do you mean?” Jean replies, turning toward him. He just grins at him and doesn’t say anything else.

By 1:30, the ship is moving straight for America. The engines are pumping at full power and the wind blows at their faces. The three of them make their way to lounge around at the stern, basking in the perfect weather and talking mostly about their dreams once they land.

Eren plans to stay in the city for only a few days. Then he wants to move out to the country, where there’s not many people and he can have his freedom. Armin wants to try to go to school, get a good education at a university. He’s still only 18, the youngest of us all. Eren’s 21 and Connie’s 19. Jean always feels a little awkward, being the oldest of the group.

While Eren and Armin talk, Jean zones out and starts to look around the deck. His eyes find him again. The freckled man. Seeing him again for a longer period of time feels like a real treat for Jean, even though he’s on the upper part of the deck.

Jean pulls his sketchbook onto his lap and got to work, drawing the rail and the shadows of people around him. He’s dressed all formal again; full tux. Jean goes to work on his torso and legs before his head. Looking up then back down again every so often to be sure he hasn’t fucked up yet. He gets to his hands resting on the rail when Jean looks up and he was gone. Well, shit. Jean looks around to see if he just moved a tab bit but no, he’s completely gone. Disappointed, Jean leans back against the rail and stared at his half-complete drawing. He thinks about trying to do the rest from memory again. The last one of him was a miracle to do and do decently. 

He mulls over his options, Eren and Armin idly chatting a few meters from him. Jean lazily shaded some more on the headless man when he hears footsteps approaching. He slips to the side of the bench in case they wanted to sit down- he feels like he’s already taking up most of the space. But no one sits down. Jean glances over his sketchbook to see shiny, pointed, black shoes in front of him. He wills his eyes to travel further up to meet softer ones.

Brown ones.

Like whiskey.

It’s him. 

It’s Freckles. 

Jean stares at him for another minute before he finally speaks. “Oh! Uh hello, sorry I didn’t mean to stare,” 

“Oh, no problem. D-do you want to sit down?” Jean asks, scooting to the side a little more. He nods and sits down next to Jean, and he sees Freckles glance at the drawing. 

The drawing that was to be him. 

Jean feels all the blood in his entire being rush to his face and nearly jumps a mile off the bench when Freckles speaks up again. 

“That’s a nice piece,” he says, gesturing to the sketchbook. Jean blushes even more. Goddammit. 

“Thanks…” Jean starts, already hating himself for what he’s about to say. 

“You’re actually the headless man right here,” he continues, pointing at him on the paper. “But when I looked up a minute ago, you were gone and I just haven’t resumed working on it again yet,” he explains. 

“Ah, sorry I moved then. I guess I sort of messed it up,” Freckles apologizes. 

“No, no no nooo. It’s fine, really. I was going to do the rest of it by memory, but now you’re right here so I can get more detail in. you’re like the main focus of this piece, anyways,” Jean tells him. He laughs a bit to himself. 

“I saw you down here, looking up at me then down at the book, then back up again so I was curious to see,” he tells Jean, lifting his hand. 

“I’m Marco. Marco Bodt,” he continues. Jean takes Marco’s hand in his own and shakes it. “Jean Kirschtein,” 

His hands are strong and sturdy, not the delicate first-class hands Jean had expected

Marco gives him another smile, warm and soft. His eyes are much darker than Jean’s amber ones. Soft and dark like the richest soil on earth. Whiskey, he thinks again. The bridge of his nose and cheeks are dusted over with freckles. Jean glanced down for a second and sees freckles on his hands as well. 

Marco pulls his eyes away from his. “So you’re an artist?” he asks. 

“Of sorts. Would you like the longer or shorter story?” Jean replies. 

Marco looks up at him with those eyes and he knows what he is going to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this came out a week late, I got lazy ;-;  
> also I may not update next week also because there is a bunch of testing this week so I have to focus on that  
> But anyways I hope you enjoyed it!  
> and again a thousand time thanks to Taylor for editing this for me you're an amazing person yo


	4. Through The Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of back story, more drawings and white gloves, and the Bodt-Lagner bitches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure why the formatting got all fucked up, but I'll fix it in the morning  
> The real morning  
> Or afternoon  
> I don't know, but here's 4

Of course, he wants the full story. So Jean gives him... most of the full story.

“When I was a younger lad still living in France, around seven or eight, I stole some charcoal and paper from the house next door and started drawing. Little things, like trees and houses, things like that. My father thought it was silly so he took the drawing away. But I kept sneaking into that house, and eventually I was caught by the old man that lives there. But he was much friendlier than my father, so he showed me a hollowed-out log in the forest of our backyard where I could hide the paper and things he was letting me have. Again, I was found out when I was around twelve, so my father sent me to my uncle in England. I kept sneaking out of there until I finally ran away. He didn’t seem to miss me though. I got a job to buy art supplies and here I am now,” Jean tells Marco.

“It sounds… amazing,” Marco says finally. He looks… thoroughly interested. Not bored at all. Jean always thought that story was boring, to be honest.

“What about you? What do you do?” he asks.

He hums to himself for a moment. “I mean, if you do work, that is. You probably have enough money to take care of yourself for the rest of your days. I don’t mean to be rude though,” Jean adds quickly.

“No, it’s fine,” Marco says, letting out a small laugh. “You’re right on both parts- my family made a fortune well before I was born, so of course family inheritance and all that. Old money. But I also own a farm in America. I grow food and sell half to food companies and I give away half to the poorer people and homeless. I want to help in some way to society, I guess,” he explains.

Jean nods. “In America, huh? Why were you in Europe just now… I mean, if you don’t mind me asking,” Jean adds. Fuckin’ nosey bastard I am, he thinks to himself.

Marco laughs a little again. Jean can’t tell if he wants him to stop doing that or do that every single time he sees him because it’s so damn…

Cute.

Wait. 

“I was in Belgium from birth until I finished college four years ago. I then moved to America, and got that farm. But I came back to Europe to go to Germany and meet up with my cousin, Ymir,” Marco explains.

“Who is she?” Jean asks. Marco’s eyes go soft suddenly and Jean knows she must be someone important to him.

“Technically we’re cousins, but she was more of a sister to me when we were young. But yes, I went to meet up with her and Krista, she’s like family to us now. Ymir mentioned in one of her letters that she wanted to move to America with Krista, so I went back there myself to offer them to stay with me in my farm plantation. They agreed, and we also agreed to pick up Ymir’s twin, Ilse, who was living in Sweden. After we did that, we came to England so we could catch a ride on the Titanic. Personally, I wanted to ride aboard the Olympic but Krista was excited to be on the Titanic’s main voyage,” he finishes.

“I see. Well, I’m glad you have your family with you then,” Jean replies. He didn’t realize that he’d put the balcony drawing aside and was working on a new sketch while Marco was talking. His torso from a profile angle was in the jacket, vest, button up and tie. His left arm supported the right, which was curled loosely near his mouth. White gloves again. Perfect hands, and Jean feels weird for staring at them. Sitting up close, he notices his neck had quite a few freckles also. His sideburns are neatly trimmed close to his ears as well.

When Jean finally becomes aware of his moving hand, Marco’s neck and back of the head was done, as was some of his arm.

“Keep talking,” Jean tells him, continuing to work. “Tell me more about your family. They seem interesting,” he continues.

Marco runs his hand through his wind-blown hair. “Well Ymir’s mother and my father are siblings, that’s why her and Ilse’s last names are Lagner and mine is Bodt. She used to run a business in Germany, but she was shut down and didn’t tell me why. Truthfully, I sort of don’t want to know.”

“What sort of business?” Jean asks, shading his arm.

“I don’t know. Like I said, she wouldn’t say. Maybe it was a factory or maybe she was in the mafia and something went wrong,” Marco says, and Jean lets out a chuckle.

“Sounds like someone may be out to kill you…” he replies in a joking tone. He looks over his shoulder to see that Eren and Armin have long since wandered off. Oh well, he guesses.

Jean continues to work and Marco continues to talk, telling stories of his childhood. Ymir once slid down the stairs on her sled and almost knocked over a vase but Marco caught it just in time. That made Jean laugh again. He tells about his farm; he has that big plantation house for him and his family to stay in. He then asks what Jean’s plan is when they docked.

As he opens his mouth to speak, the bugle sounding first-class dinner sounded and cut him off. Well, shit. Jean didn’t realize that it had gotten so late already. But his Marco picture was just about complete. He flips it around and shows it to his muse.

“Whoa…” Marco mumbles.

“Would you like it?” Jean asks, holding it out to him.

“Ah, yes yes! How much would you like for it?” Marco replies, going for the inside pocket of his jacket. But Jean just held out a hand to stop him.

“No, nothing. Please, just take it. Your company is more than enough. I really enjoy talking to you,” he tells him and Marco took the paper. Now all he has to do is just ask…

“Would you like to talk again sometime tomorrow?” Marco asks with a smile. Jean looks back up at him again. Okay now, don’t sound too eager, he thinks.

“Yeah, absolutely!”

God fucking damn it.

The two of them walk across the deck and up the stairs together until they got to the corridor leading to the first class dining hall. Another question itches at the back of Jeans head.

“Are you gonna be embarrassed when you tell your cousin that you spent half the day talking to a middle class scum like me?” he jokes.

“You’re not scum, you’re quite pleasant. Your company is more than enough,” Marco replies with a grin. Stealing my lines, Jean thinks to himself.

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Maybe after lunch?” Marco asks.

“Yeah, yeah. See you then,” Jean replies, waving awkwardly before turning to go to the second class dining hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry that this took so long but I updated on the actual Titanic sinking anniversary so that's a plus  
> also may or may not get the next chapter up soon, I have literally no idea what to do after this except more Springles  
> Springles 4 lyfe yo


	5. Dance of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More art and more Sasha! Ymir and Ilse are introduced and Krista is mentioned again. What are chapter titles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took longer than it should have ughhh but its 1800 words, the longest i've ever done so that's a plus!  
> Uhh theres some smoking and an implied drunk Ilse in this chapter so if you guys are uncomfortable with those things  
> Im just letting ya know theyre in here

Jean walks down the corridor with his left hand gripping tightly to his sketchbook and his right hand shoved deep into his pocket.

He's gonna meet me again for dinner holy shit why am I so excited about this, he thinks as he walks.

He steams down the hall and turns a sharp corner, almost running into someone along the way. He finally gets to his room and opens the door to see Connie and that brunette he had helped out earlier. Well then.

“Hey, Jean!” Connie greeted him with a wave.

“H-hey…” Jean says back, eyeing the two. The girl had half a piece of bread in her mouth and was trying to contain the crumbs that spilled down her blouse.

“Oh, Jean this is Sasha. You remember her right? From on deck earlier?” Connie asks him.

“Uh yeah. Yeah, I do, how are ya?” Jean lifts his hand to shake hers. Her response was muffled behind the bread. “So Connie it’s just around dinner time, you wanna go down there?” he continues.

“Yeah man, I’m starving,” he agrees with a grin. Jean nods over to Sasha. “You wanna come too?” Her eyes light up and she nods, following the two men to the dining hall for second class.

They make their way down the corridor and meet up with Eren and Armin in the dining hall. Eren shoots a questioning look at Sasha but says nothing of it. They sit at a table and eat their food with Connie telling the group stories of his dreams. They’re usually pretty weird, some are kind of messed up, but they’re all usually pretty funny. Except for the dream Eren was cut out of a giant’s neck. Where did that one come from?

“Will your friends be upset that you’re not with them for dinner?” Connie asks eventually.

“I’m not sure. I mean, I didn’t come here with my friends, I came alone. My roommate Annie seems pretty okay, but I haven’t really spoken to her. And I don’t even know what the other two girl’s names are,” Sasha explains to them. Armin nods then says; “Well if you ever feel lonely, we can always provide the company.”

Sasha beams and thanks him before going back to her soup. It was rather good, too. Dinner is finished quickly and Jean makes his way back on deck again to get some fresh air. Also, because he’s a bit hopeful that he’d see Marco outside again.

Sure enough, when Jean emerges on deck with the cold air hitting his face, there stood Marco. Again, his vest and tie are both gone, and his hair is ruffled and blown from the wind, its slickness from earlier long gone. He lights the cigarette in his mouth then turns to smile at Jean. And he’s wearing the white gloves once again.

“H-hey, Marco,” Jean greets, walking up to him.

“Hello Jean. You smoke?” he offers Jean a cigarette, all pristine and new; the expensive kind. Not the crappy ones Jean often has to roll by hand.

He nods and takes the cigarette from him, his fingers barely brushing Marco’s gloved hand, and he swears it electrocutes him. Marco hands Jean his lighter and he lights the cigarette, inhaling deeply and letting the smoke circulate in his lungs before breathing it out. “Thanks. I was starting to go crazy, I haven’t had one in a few days,” he tells him.

“So… I told you why I’m going to America, why are you? If you don’t mind my asking,” Marco says, breaking the silence. Jean takes another drag off the cigarette and kicks at the deck for a bit.

“You know how I told you that my dad sent me to England after he kept finding my drawings?” he asks and Marco nodded.

“Well, he sent me away because he thought I was a nuisance. That I was no good. He thought my uncle would straighten me out so he sent me to live with him, but he didn’t give a shit about me. He would spend all of the money I’d try to earn on booze so I didn’t have much to eat, so I resorted to stealing. I met one of my friends when some other assholes were beating him up, and he led me to a few others. We decided that we didn’t want anything else to do with that island, so we came up with the idea to go to America. ‘Land Of Opportunities’ y’know?

“It’s really a shitty story. Stealing food and selling my art to get a couple of coins for clothes and stuff like that. My friend thought I would try to go back to France to see my father for the first time in ten years, but no. I don’t want to see him for a while longer. But this place is gonna make it better, I hope.” Jean explains.

Marco remains silent for a minute, taking one last drag off his cigarette and then flicking it off of the ship.

“I see… sorry about that, Jean,” he says. Jean just shrugs.

“Don’t be. What happened happened and that’s how shit is. Besides, if I didn’t get sent to England, I probably wouldn’t be on this ship, wouldn’t I?” he replies, trying for optimism. He takes another drag off his cigarette and follows Marco, tossing it over the rail.

“Guess not. Also, I’d assume your drawing skills have come a long way in the past decade, yes?” Marco finally says.

Jean’s eyes light up at his favorite subject being brought up. “Yeah, I hope it did. Crappy figures to hopefully good freckled men, I think. You wanna see some more examples?” he asks, holding up his knapsack with the sketchbook inside. “You might think I’m a bit strange, but I swear, it goes everywhere with me” Marco just laughs and nods.

It’s getting too cold outside because he only has a tux jacket and Jean doesn’t have any jacket at all so the two of them decide to go down to Marco’s stateroom. First class shit was fancy as hell. 

“Who’s this?” someone asks when the two of them enter Marco’s room. Jean looks to see someone with a face full of freckles just like Marco. Ilse or Ymir…?

“Ymir, this is my friend Jean. He’s an artist and is showing me some of his work. Is Ilse back yet?” Marco asks. So this one’s Ymir. She looks tall and lean with the freckles and dark skin like Marco. Her black hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her bangs are parted to each side. She steps forward, eyes Jean up and down once, and shakes his hand firmly before turning to Marco. “Not yet, but she should be soon.”

“We’re just going to be in here to look at his work, alright?” Marco says.

Ymir nods. “Yeah, just don’t get all drunk and rowdy, Krista and I are turning in for the night,” she replies.

“We’ll try to keep it down,” Marco laughs. It sounded sweet, almost as if honey was a sound. Ymir turns and went to the other room where Jean assumes Krista’s waiting.

“Alright,” Jean breathes, pulling the sketchbook out of his bag and sitting at the table Marco was already seated. He flips it open and scanned around for his three favorites.

“This one is one I did a while ago, when I had dreams of an ocean. I guess it’s sort of relevant now because we’re… here. But this was made I think two….? Years ago? Yeah it says in February of ’10. There’s a bit of red in the water because of the blood of the person who made it there. It was a weird ass dream but I tried to make it less dark as possible. With the sunlight reflecting off the water and the brightness of the sand,” Jean explains. Marco listens to every word and Jean’s actually pretty surprised he’s interested. He then moves onto the next one.

“This one is just a field of flowers. I don’t remember what they’re all called but they’re very beautiful. I saw them outside of Paris once about a year ago. I tried to make the yellow inside the blue more prominent and stand out more so someone who actually knows flowers can identify them. In the middle is a tree that I’ve only seen one other time. It’s got those really long purple petals that hang down and almost touch the ground. The tree symbolizes love and this may sound really cheesy but it’s a really beautiful tree,” Jean continues. He looks back at Marco who appeared as if he’s about to say something, but closes his mouth when they hear the door open. 

Jean hadn’t realized how close the two had gotten to each other until someone came into the room. They both straightened up and turned around. Another girl with freckles had stumbled in and waved at both of them. “That’s Ilse,” Marco whispers to Jean. She kicks at the door behind her, trying and failing to close it, and lays down on the couch, turning the lights out.

“Uhh…” Jean starts but he hears Marco’s soft chuckling. “She was up all last night and probably had a bit too much to drink tonight. Here, let me grab a candle,” he says. Jean could barely make out him reaching across the table to hold the thing steady as he lit it. The light was dim but they can still see the paper in front of them.

“Alright, do you wanna see my favorite?” Jean asks and Marco nods. He turns the pages a few more times until he comes upon the one with people.

“I don’t usually name my art but I did for this one. I call it the ‘Fallen Soldiers’. There’s a few soldiers standing around a fire burning the bodies of their fallen comrades. This one in the middle is holding onto one of the bones that he thinks used to belong to his best friend. It’s kind of dark and creepy but I had fun with this one,” Jean told him. Marco nods and looks back up at Jean.

“These are all really good, Jean. I don’t know what to say, I’m just about speechless,” he says. Jean smiles and looks back at the burning candle.

“You know, I thought I could make a living off of these paintings and be able to stay healthy, but I guess most people in England don’t really like art. Hopefully they will in America, because if no one does then I just might enlist in the army or something,” he sighs.

“Well, I think a lot of Americans will like them. And if they don’t, I do. If you want to sell some of these, I’d be damn glad to buy them,” Marco replies.

“Thanks, Marco,” Jean says, watching the candle light dance off his freckles face. Maybe he just…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the tree and flower painting is a wisteria and forget me not's and that's a shoutout to claudia for being amazing  
> Happy RBT friends  
> (also if there are fuck ups, im still in class and i didnt get a chance to run this by my amazing beta Taylor so im gonna do that when i get back home in like two hours or something)  
> Also thanks to Taylor for sending me the idea to have them look at the art in the candle light when i had no fucking idea what to do next  
> Thanks tay  
> You da bomb

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this on a whim, and it's 2 in the morning. Thank you for taking the time to read this, I hope you enjoyed!  
> To be honest I have no idea where this will go, just roll with it. Roll with the what.


End file.
